


Far Away from Home

by PRrrr



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cameos, Canon-Typical Violence, Coming of Age, Gen, Minor Character Death, Secret Identity, Sister-Sister Relationship, Travelogue, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-04 15:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5339330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PRrrr/pseuds/PRrrr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Sansa and Arya both got away from King's Landing before Ned's arrest? Read about their adventures and developing relationship while the whole universe seemingly conspires to keep them far away from home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Into the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the adventure starts, but Sansa finds it wanting.

The ship they traveled on was cramped, ugly and dirty, to say nothing of the smell. Sansa hasn’t seen many ships in her life, but she knew at once that this vessel was wholly unsuitable for ladies and she wouldn’t be surprised if it was in fact the worst ship in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms. Their voyage was supposed to be a long one, and every single day of it was promising to be miserable.

It all started  when King Robert returned from the hunt, grievously wounded. She was forced by the father to leave the Red Keep in the middle of the night.

“But we were supposed to leave tomorrow,” she complained. “I haven’t packed yet, Jeyne was supposed to help me in the morning.”

“You’re going now, and you’re not taking any baggage. Jeyne will get to sleep longer”, her father said in a tone that allowed no dissent.

“Jeyne isn’t going? I can’t leave my best friend!” she cried but received no quarter.

“It’s only you, your sister and Septa Mordane. This is not up for discussion. Septa will explain the situation to you later,” her father responded and she thought him heartless then.

They left the keep wrapped in dark cloaks, quietly and with minimal escort. In the port, they boarded the Swallow, an ungainly cog set for Gulltown.

It only took her a moment to learn that the Swallow wasn’t even supposed to carry any kind of passengers, yet alone noble ones.

“Rotten fish? It’s full of rotten fish?,” she cried in terror after learning the source of the overwhelming smell that assaulted her nostrils.

“It’s not rotten, it’s fermented. It’s kind of a dish, A delicacy, just like your lemon cakes,” Septa Mordane tried to paint a more positive picture but Sansa found her comparison outrageously offensive.

“I’ll smell of rotten fish for months,” Sansa complained.

“That’ll be an improvement,” Arya quipped.

Oh yes, Arya. She knew how to made a bad situation even worse. It would be a sin, and unladylike to hate your sister, so Sansa stopped short of that. However, she couldn’t deny that she misliked her. Arya got Lady killed. Arya was jealous of her betrothal to Joffrey and did everything to ruin it. Arya, judging by the injuries she received in her training, was the worst dancer in the world. Arya was a stupid little brat.  

Now it turned out that due to the limited sleeping place available they would have to share not only a room, but also a bed, or berth as they sailors called it. It was a nightmare. Her sister thought nothing of turning their sleeping quarters into a pigsty. She brought bread to the bed and left breadcrumbs. She befriended the ship’s cat and allowed it into a cabin, spreading cat fur everywhere. And finally, she ruined Sansa’s dress, her only dress (for they were not allowed to pack) by throwing greasy food at it.

After that, she had enough. She ran off to Septa Mordane to complain, hoping for some consolation. Instead, she got rebuffed.

“Being a true lady is not only about perfect embroidery or knowledge of court etiquette. It’s also about being unflappable when faced with hardship. Do you know why we are here? Your father spend a lot of gold to send us away, and he wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t suspect that something terrible was going to happen. He might well have saved our lives. You’re almost woman grow, you should start acting as one, not as a petulant child. I don’t say this often, but your sister is dealing with the situation better than you. This one time, you should act more like her,” Septa concluded her devastating lecture.

Sansa kept a brave face and walked away calmly, if only to avoid further scolding. However, that night she cried her eyes out, feeling hurt, betrayed and humiliated. It was so unfair. She was always required to be a perfect lady. Her mother used to say that she was one when she was three years old. If she did a single thing wrong people around her acted disappointed and punished her. Arya, on the other hand, was almost never a lady and almost never did things right, and nobody cared. She had all the freedom with no expectations.

Next morning, she found out that Arya cleaned up her dress.

“It’s no perfect, but I tried,” her sister said. "Olly and Pate helped.”

Of course, even the uncouth, burly sailors loved Arya.

 “I heard you crying, and I figured out it was because of me. You know I don’t hate you right? Well not really.”

“Thank you”, she responded, not wanting to sound ungrateful, but in true she was feeling even more humiliated. Arya _was_ acting more ladylike than her.

With that, they signed an uneasy trust of sorts, and maintained it by mostly keeping to themselves.

Arya was out for most of the days, playing with the cat and joking around with sailors more intimidating than the Hound. Staying in the cabin, Sansa played make-believe to keep busy. Sometimes she pretended Jeyne was with her, and told her the tales about knights and princesses that she read in the books or made up on the spot. Sometimes she even pretended that Arya was here, though she knew that her real sister would make fun of her if she attempted to tell her the story of Florian and Jonquil. Then she would try to fall asleep before Arya returned, to save herself from her snores.

That’s how they spend their days until the 7th night of the journey, when everything changed and their old problems suddenly become insignificant.

 

* * *

 

In just a few short hours, previously calm weather changed into a storm. Soon, Sansa learned what seasickness was. She hadn't got any sleep that night, and instead spend that time vomiting out what seemed to be the entire insides of her body. At one point, she hit her dress.

“I’m not cleaning this one out,” Arya proclaimed.

It was around the time they were usually breaking their fast (though they didn’t have much appetite that particular day) when through the rain and wind they heard massive thunder, followed by something heavy hitting the deck and pathetic shrieks and cries of men.

They sat listening but not saying anything, while around them hoarse voices were giving orders or cursing in pain.

“I can’t stand this,” Arya said suddenly. “I’ve to check what’s going on.”

Sansa wanted to stop her from leaving, but sickness left her too weak to mount an effective protest.

Soon Arya was gone and Sansa spend the next agonizingly long moments completely alone. She was actually ready to follow her sister when she returned.

Arya closed, and then barred the door. She then started looking for something among the heavy cloaks they discarded the day they entered the ship.

“What are you doing?” Sansa asked.

“The lighting took the mast, and Pate said that that the ship is done for,” her sister responded.

“Then shouldn’t we be getting out? To the lifeboats?” Sansa questioned her, though truth to the told she didn't even know if the Swallow had any lifeboats.

“Pate said no,” Arya responded and turned to her, displaying her treasure.

“ A sword,” Sansa said, horrified.

“Pate said that other sailors, they talked a lot about cursed gold and cursed women. Of wenches bringing bad luck. He said they might be dangerous,” Arya explained calmly. "But don’t be afraid, I’ll defend you.”

My little sister wants to save me from men four times her size. It seemed absurd, but she actually felt reassured.

Arya moved closer to show her the sword.

“It’s called Needle, Jon had…”

Once again, the sound of thunder and lighting striking the ship.

Maybe we’re really bringing bad luck, Sansa thought. Then she remembered.

“Arya, Septa Mordan. We can’t leave her alone. The sailors might want to hurt her too.”

Her sister bit her lip, then nodded.

“What about you, can you walk with me? Not long ago you were puking all over the room.”

“I feel better now,” Sansa declared, and it wasn’t even a lie. “True lady grows stronger in the face of adversity.”

Arya looked at her like she was mad, but then slowly opened the door while keeping the sword – Needle – in her hand. Sansa followed.

They walked onto the deck, and were greeted with horror. The storm was raging on. The mast must have been broken in half, and around its sorry remnants there were bodies, people who were dead or dying. On the starboard there was fire.

They tried moving forward but the rain and the wind hit them like a sledgehammer. Sansa almost fell, but then steadied herself. Suddenly, she noticed a younger sailor, one of Arya’s friends. Olly. He didn’t look like he was hurt, but he might as well have been dead. He was leaning on the edges of the deck, dangerously close to the water, while looking at her absentmindedly.

That’s a man that lost his senses, she concluded, but nevertheless she pointed him out to Arya.

“We have to save him!” she called through the storm.

Together, they moved toward Olly, though the weather was making every step difficult.

They were so focused on their target, they didn’t saw a mighty wave coming at them.


	2. Fires and Fights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the sisters fight with nature, and with each other.

The wave hit hard, instantly throwing them overboard. I’m going to die, Sansa thought as she landed in the water. With the strength she didn’t know she  possessed she fought the sea, but with each fleeting moment it was harder and harder to stay on the surface.

She thought that was the end, but in that moment the fate smiled at her. Up ahead she saw a barrel, and someone holding onto it. Arya!

She swum forward, and grabbed the barrel. Her sister still had her sword –  Needle had been driven into the barrel’s surface, and Arya was grasping it tightly with one hand, while keeping the other around the container’s side.

Behind them, a loud crack broke through the regular noise of the storm. It must be the ship going down, Sansa surmised. At this point, her mind was starting to wander off. She was focused on clutching onto a piece of wood that was her only hope for salvation. Nothing else mattered, and soon she wasn’t paying any attention to the world around her, not even to  her sister.

* * *

At some point, she must have passed out, because when she come to her senses she wasn’t on the sea, but laying on the beach, and the light breeze and warm sun were making the storm she endured seem like a nightmare.

She wanted to look around, but before she could do that her sister was all over her, hugging her tightly probably for the first time in their lives.

“I’m so glad that you’re fine,” she said quietly.

For her part, Sansa was glad too, but she felt the need to point something out.

“Arya, you’re naked!”

Her sister stopped hugging her and stood up.

“Of course I’m, our clothes are soaked with water. We have to dry them off so we won’t get sick.”

That made sense, but Sansa still had some doubts.

“It’s improper, what if someone sees you?”

“Nobody’s going to see no one. Look around, there’s nothing here. We’re on a deserted island,” Arya responded, visibly irritated.

Sansa proceed to investigate this claim by walking up and down the beach and to the edge of the small forest inland. She had to conclude that nobody besides them was around, and that the whole island looked wild and untouched by civilization.

Only then she reluctantly took off her own clothes. Her dress suffered much over the last few days and was probably unsalvageable, but she hoped that at least her shift could be of use after a few hours in the sun.

She felt uncomfortable, but truth to be told she had bigger problem.

Her tummy gurgled and growled, and she had a headache. It must have been a full day (or close enough to make no matter) since she had eaten a meal.

“I’m hungry,” she complained.

“So am I,” Arya responded. “I tried to catch a lizard earlier but it escaped… but wait, the barrel!”

The trusty container that saved their lives remained on the beach, and there was a reasonable chance that it contained foodstuff. They walked back to it and Arya used Needle to remove the lid.

They were hit by vomit inducing, overwhelming stench.

“It’s that rotten fish!” Sansa cried.

“It’s fermented, not rotten. It might not be that bad,” Arya corrected her, and reached into the barrel.

“Are you joking? This smells worse than shift,” Sansa was aghast.

“Well you can always try to find some lemon cakes for yourself,” her sister shrugged it off, and started wolfing down the queer dish.

It took her a while, but in the end Sansa held her nose and reached for the food.

It was probably hunger, but she ended up pleasantly surprised.

“It’s not that bed, if you ignore the aroma,” she decided.

“Mmmm,” Arya agreed with her mouth full.

After stuffing themselves full, they laid down on the beach for a while. It was actually kind of nice. Then Arya got up.

“You  know, there’s a stream near the forest. We should move there and start a fire, so we can boil water later on.”

“Is starting a fire near the forest necessary? It seems like a recipe for a disaster," Sansa was concerned.

“I can drink the water from the stream without boiling,” she added.  In fact she was actually wary of spiders and insects that probably were in it, but was determined to not come out as pampered.

Arya laughed at her.

“I would like to see that. You need to boil the water, otherwise you get very sick. Like Cayn’s uncle who got lost in the woods during a hunting trip.”

“You know so many things,” Sansa was genuinely surprised. Arya was never this eloquent during their lessons at Winterfell.

“People tell me things. Normal people, not courtiers or lords”, her sister said. “They would tell you things too, if you didn’t hold your nose around them as if they were a rotten fish,” she added harshly.

Sansa was going to respond, but bite her tongue at the last moment, not wanting another argument. Instead she quickly followed Arya around as they walked toward the stream. At the place, Arya started ordered her to gather the firewood.

“Look for dead wood that hasn’t fallen to the ground yet, but got stuck in the bushes or the like. Stuff on the ground is likely to be too damp,” she specified.

Sansa has now completely accepted her sister’s primacy when it comes to outdoor activities and took to her task at once. Walking through the woods, she got cuts on her feet, legs and arms but brushed them off. She gathered what she thought was suitable material and returned.

At the stream  Arya was sitting on the ground, furiously rubbing some stick over some piece of wood, presumably to ignite a fire. Her sister was biting her lip looking determined, but so far all her efforts were for naught.

Sansa sat awkwardly under a tree, afraid of ruining something. After a long while, Arya suddenly stood up and throw her fire stick into the stream. It made a loud splash.

“It’s not good for anything, I can’t get it to work!” she shouted in frustration.

“Maybe I could try,” Sansa offered.

“Like _you_ are good for anything,” Arya responded with a nasty chuckle.

“Arya Horseface,” Sansa murmured under her breath.

For a time, they sat around exchanging angry looks. Finally, Sansa broke the silence.

“We should get our clothes back,” she said.

She thought it was getting colder and darker around them. They walked back to the beach in silence and donned the linen shifts they’ve left to dry on a solitary tree located next to the beach.

They sat on the sand and watched the setting sun.

“Should we try again?” Sansa asked. “To start the fire?”

“Maybe on the morrow,” Arya responded, looking tired and defeated.

They were sitting far to each other, at first. However, as the day was turning into the night they moved closer and closer, and in the end they ended up cuddling together.

“It’s only for warmth,” Arya was quick to make that clear.

They were tired, and it didn’t took them long to fell asleep.

* * *

 

The next morning was terrible. Her whole body ached, her mouth was dry and she felt slightly feverish. She looked at Arya who didn’t seem to be doing much better.

“You did well yesterday, father and mother would be proud if they knew how good you’re at surviving in the wild,” she said in a pleasant tone hoping to get a day to a good start. This backfired horribly.

“You know I did that before. Remember, I was all alone with Nymeria while you were busy conspiring with your stupid boy Joffrey to get your own wolf killed,” Arya stated.

Sansa was deeply hurt.

“You know that’s not true. I would never do anything to hurt Lady, I never thought things would go that far,” she explained.

“I know you lied,” Arya said curtly.

“You can’t go around and attack crown princes and call them liars. It was _your_ fault that Lady was killed. I was trying to smooth things over with diplomacy. You don’t even what that word means!” Sansa was exasperated.

“Whatever. Liar,” Arya retorted.

Sansa got up and started walking away from her. Arya followed suit and soon they were on the opposing ends of the beach.

Then something occurred to her, and she started to walk back. She found Arya sitting on the sand, completely preoccupied with stabbing barrel lid to death with Needle.

“When you were with Nymeria, did you start the fire?” – Sansa asked.

“Yeah,” Arya offered a barely audible answer.

“With that stick thing?”

“No, I had something better. Flint and…steel,” Arya answered and finally stopped.

“Needle is steel, and flint is some sort of a rock?,” Sansa knew as much.

“Yeah, but not any rock. It has to be the kind that makes sparks when hit,” Arya was finally getting it.

“We’ll start looking immediately,” her sister declared.

The next few hours were difficult. They walked through most of the island (they didn’t dare to enter the darkest part of the forest), testing various kinds of stones. Most of them were completely useless, and Sansa felt that they were close to turning on each other once again.

In the end though they come across a decently sized formation of green-tinted rock. Sansa reached for a fragment that has broken off, and presented it to Arya who hit it with Needle.

“Sparks! Sparks!” they cried in unison, and celebrated their triumph with a little happy dance.

After that short reprisal, they got back to work, returning to their previous place of residence near the stream. Suitable tinder was gathered, and then they tested their new firemaking technique. It took them a few tries, but they finally got what they wanted. With the bonfire secure, they went to the beach to retrieve the barrel. There was still food in it, though it was probably going bad soon (how would they know, surely it couldn’t smell any worse?), and in any case they needed it for other purposes.

They eat some of the fish, not caring about the smell anymore, and got rid of rest. It was a shame to let it go to waste, but they haven’t drank anything in more than a day now, and they haven’t got anything better than the bottom of the barrel to serve as a vessel to transport and boil water from the stream.

About an hour or so later Sansa tasted the first batch; it was only water, but it felt like heaven.

* * *

Over the following fortnights, they established a routine. During the nights, they slept around the bonfire. The days were spent hunting for food. They focused their efforts on the small animals: snakes, frogs, snails, rodents. They raided bird nests looking for eggs. They supplemented that diet with the meagre berries or fruits, learning by trial and error which ones could be eaten and which should be better left alone. It was a hard existence, for while Arya was an agile and enthusiastic hunter, she was also completely lacking in experience, while Sansa was clumsy and (to be honest) squeamish about killing small creatures. They were surviving, but not thriving. Arya was naturally small and thin, now she was turning into nothing but skin and bones and dirt. Sansa suspected that she didn’t look much better. She was quite convinced that if they were to be magically transported back to King’s Landing, the beggars of the Flea Bottom would give _them_ their coins.

She told Arya that and she complimented her wit. They were getting along much better know, though she suspected their trying circumstances played a role. During the evenings, they amused themselves by telling tales around the bonfire. Sansa talked about warriors and princesses; Arya about warrior princesses. They talked about the family, too: mother, father, Robb, their half-brother Jon, Bran who got crippled so cruelly, and of little Rickon. Not often though, because it was a difficult topic. It forced them to think about future, and whether they were even going to see anyone of them again. Sansa knew they wouldn’t survive winter, or even autumn on their little island. They had to get to back to solid land, but how? She thought about sailing away on a raft, but she didn’t have a clue how to build one and neither, for all her savvy, had Arya.

Their established routine was suddenly interrupted about a month after their landing. It was early morning, and they were still half asleep when suddenly they heard voices. Actual human voices, but speaking in a language neither one of them could understand. They got up and Arya reached for Needle, but Sansa soon realized that there would no point in trying anything stupidly brave.

Before them, stood about a dozen men armed to the teeth. Some of them had dark skin like Prince Jalabhar Xho from the court, some looked like Dornishman, some could have been mistaken for Crownlanders or Northmen if not for their exotic, colorful clothing. All of them were looking at her and Arya with visible surprise.

“Sansa, I don’t think we’re in Seven Kingdoms anymore,” her sister concluded.


	3. Going the wrong way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mayhaps to reach the West, you must go East first?

„Don’t do anything stupid,” Sansa told her sister.

“I’ve heard you the first time you said that,” she responded, clutching Needle. Though they had trouble communicating with – Sansa didn’t know how to call them, captors or rescuers – Arya has made it clear that she wouldn’t allow herself to be disarmed without resistance.

The foreigners accepted that, even laughed about it, which Sansa thought was a good sign. She wasn’t as naïve as some believed. She knew there were some truly twisted people all around the world. Even the songs and stories she read didn’t always have happy endings. She heard about the slavers who once occupied lands around the White Harbor until a Stark king of yore brutally suppressed them. She also read a story about pirates once, that distressed her so much she couldn’t sleep later that night. To her relieve, the men who took them captive didn’t appear to be that sort of people. Boorish they were, yes, but not cruel or brutal.

“You look like a beggar, but talk like a Valyrian princess!” one of them laughed to her face. They communicated in Valyrian. That is, they spoke in a dialect of sorts, while Sansa was using her best High Valyrian as thought by Septa Mordane (she wondered if she survived?).

So far they were treated as honorable prisoners, but as prisoners nonetheless. They were asked to walk to the beach, with four armed guards around them, and board a boat that was moored there.

From what she understood, they were being taken to the ship that was anchored in the lee of the island, to talk with the leader of the expedition.

The ship looked bigger and more impressive than their last one, not that this was much of an achievement. She saw no soldiers wearing liveries though, and no impressive flags or emblems on the sails, so she concluded that it was a merchant vessel, not a warship.

With some help from the sailors, they embarked the ship. Deck hands looked at them with amusements, pointing fingers and laughing, which she thought was rather ungentlemanly.

After a short but excruciating wait, they were allowed into what seemed to be the captain’s cabin. Inside there was an old man who must have seen fifty namedays, or close enough to make no matter. He had olive skin and dark beard sprinkled generously with gray hairs.

He started talking to them in Valyrian, but his accent was so heavy and his dialect so queer than Sansa could make no sense of his words.

“Ser, do you speak Common?” she asked not expecting much.

The man raised his eyebrows, and responded in accented, but perfectly clear variant of Westeros’ tongue.

“You mean the language of Andals? It’s not common for us, but what kind of sorry merchant would I be if I didn’t speak it? So, you two are the savage girls who are getting increasingly famous among my crew?” he asked a series of rhetorical questions.

“We’re not savage!” Arya declared angrily. Sansa decided it would be best to limit her contribution to the discussion and kicked her in the ankle.

“Let me do the talking,” she whispered to her sister, and then presented the question to the man in front of them.

“Ser, may I enquire about yours and your vessel name?"

“I’m captain Groleo, and this is the Dark Flame, merchantman in the service of Magister Illyrio of Pentos. Can I ask about who the hell are you now?”

“I’m Beth and this is Cat, we’re merchant daughters from White Harbor, in the north of Westeros. Our father deals in variety of merchandise but mostly it's fermented fish,” Arya recited what was obviously a prepared speech before Sansa could say a word.

She was furious about her lying that way, and wanted to correct her at first, but realized that it would make them both appear rather suspicious.

“Beth and Cat, eh? What are you doing here? That little island is rather infamous as a meeting place of some particularly nasty types,” Groleo asked.

“Slavers and Pirates?” Sansa remembered her earlier suspicions.

“Aye, and smugglers too, though often it’s the exact same people. I guess it makes sense for a merchant’s daughter to know about the dangers on the sea,” the captain responded.

“Are you a pirate then? You’re the master of a ship that’s stopping at pirate’s den,” Arya asked suspiciously.

 Groleo give her an angry look.

“Girl, it’s bad form to accuse honest seaman of that sort of things,” he warned her. “We stopped to replenish our stores of drinking water, not that I need to explain myself to some bratty vagabond.”

Sansa once again hit her sister’s ankle, stronger this time.

“Forgave this child ser, she must have injured her head while our ship was going down. You see, we got stranded here after a storm. We’re afraid we’re the only survivors,” Sansa decided to explain their circumstances.

The sadness in her voice seemed to soothe the captain’s anger.

“I’m sorry to hear that, this explains your sister’s bad temper, to a degree. In Pentos, it’s customary to help fellow travelers in need. I can take you with us if you want.”

“To Westeros?” Sansa asked hopefully.

“To Pentos, where we’re currently going,” the captain responded. “I can’t just change my course on some girl’s whims, no matter their reasons.”

“What are we going to do in Pentos?” Arya inquired.

“My venerable employer, Magister Illyrio, is a charitable man. He’s particularly fond of orphans, and offers job opportunities for them, particularly the intelligent, literate ones,” Groleo said.

“We’re not orphans,” Sansa insisted.

“Even in that case, you would be wise to meet with him. He could arrange for your return to home – White Harbor you said, right? He’s a business man, so you would be billed for that, but I’m sure your parents would rather part with some coin than with their daughters,” the captain stated giving them a small smile. “Or I can return you to the island. I’m not a pirate, I’m not going to force you to do anything. Are you staying or are you going with us?”

“We’ll go,” Arya and Sansa said jointly.

We’re going in the wrong direction, Sansa concluded, but at least we’re getting somewhere.

 

* * *

They set sails that evening, leaving behind their temporary home. They were in a great mood, as their living standards were massively improved. They got a bath, and scrubbed themselves clean, or in Arya’s case, mostly clean. They discarded their pathetic rags and got to wear real clothes again. Well, the only things that could fit them were odd and old garments discarded by cabin boys and the youngest of sailors, so in a way they were still wearing rags, but at least they were better than what they had before. Sansa never would have guessed that she would feel so good wearing a pair of ill-fitting breeches and a rough linen shirt with holes in it. In Westeros, it would be considered scandalous for a girl to wear man’s clothing, but she reassured herself that in the Free Cities the customs were different. Arya, she was quite sure, in her new clothing would pass for a boy anyway. She took to the marine fashion immediately, adding a bandana and a scarf to her pants and shirt combo.

Their sleeping accommodation was in a ship compartment that was normally used for storing cheese, and they shared it with what appeared to be a family of rats. Sansa of two months ago would have fainted at their sight and most likely prefered death to such indignity. Now she was just happy to have a roof over her head. It’s amazing how much one can change in such a short period of time, she thought half proud and half terrified of herself.

It was already dark night when the two of them finally had time and privacy to discuss the recent development.

“Why did you lie about who we are? They might have been more willing to change their course for the Hand’s daughters than for the Beth and Cat from White Harbor,” Sansa asked.

“I’m not sure if we can trust them, and we don’t really know what’s going on in Westeros. Don’t you think it’s weird that the father has sent us away in the middle of the night? Let’s find out what’s going on first. We can say who we really are later. At worst, we’ll get a free trip to Pentos that way,” Arya argued.

“You thought about this more than I did,” Sansa conceded.

In true, she was astounded that her sister ever planned anything in advance. It always seemed that she was saying and doing first thing that come to her mind without ever thinking about consequences.

“Syrio said that you should be completely aware of your surroundings before making your first move. He also said that you should never reveal all  your secrets,” Arya said.

“Your dancing teacher said that?” Sansa questioned, a bit confused.

“Yeah,” Arya responded after a short pause.

* * *

Next morning, they were set to work as part of the crew. Groleo said that his ship was for transporting trading goods, not passengers, and in any case they weren’t paying  him anything so they would have to work for room and board.

They were quite useless at any sort of real naval work, so they spend most of their time washing the deck, helping with the food preparation or doing the dishes. Even at these tasks, Sansa was certain, they were quite bad. In Winterfell and King’s landing she was doing things suitable for a young lady, and Arya did her own things, but neither involved chores. She wondered if they were even helping at all or just slowing things down. Perhaps it was just a “character building” exercise, as her mother would say?

While crying over the chopped onions in the kitchen, she asked the laughing cook (grizzled old man originally from the Oldtown, she learned), and he more or less confirmed her suspicions.

“That’s how it work on ships, lass, at least these run in a more organized way. Idle hands lead to devil’s thoughts. Leave sailors alone, and they’ll plot mutiny, drink themselves to death or do even worse things. Why do you think we’re washing the damned deck every day? It sure as hell doesn't need no more water, I'll tell you that. As for your sister and you, the captain probably wants for you to be seen as part of the crew, so the boys won’t get any stupid ideas.”

She didn’t fully know what he meant by that, and she decided to change the topic anyway. As the cook was a Westerosi, surely he knew what was happening there recently.

“The hell’s breaking out, that’s what happening. We left as fast as possible, as to not get caught in the shitstorm, as they say,” he laughed. "The old king died, leaving the throne to his whelp, but the king’s brothers are damned pricks and are raising soldiers. There’s also the business with the old hand, who turned traitor and attempted to keep the throne for himself. He was arrested, but his son’s apparently coming to get him back.”

Sansa couldn’t believe what she heard.

“Fa...the Lord Hand would never, ever do such a thing!” she declared.

“You obviously know him better than me, m’lady,” the cook said teasingly.

She decided to depart immediately.

“I’m sorry I feel queasy,” she declared and left the kitchen.

Only after a short stay in their quarters she finally started thinking straight. Could the news the true? She saw no reason for the cook to lie, but there was no way her father would betray the trust of king Robert. Unfortunately, Joffrey thought differently if he imprisoned him. He was haste in judgment, and obviously had some bad advisors feeding him poisonous thoughts. Suspicious people like lord Varys and lord Baelish, who were most likely jealous of the Stark-Lannister alliance (Stark-Baratheon, she corrected herself immediately. Joff was a Baratheon). And what was that about Robb’s coming for the father? This was getting all too complicated for her; she naively thought that after getting to Pentos, it was just a matter of finding next ship back to Seven Kingdoms. If there was a war though, and their family was involved?

Later on, she met with Arya who learned similar news and some more while talking with sailors. Apparently the Dark Flame was until recently anchored at Dragonstone, but left in haste after learning about the potential war – there were rumors that lord Stannis would forcibly conscript merchant ships to fight for him. Sansa was sure that Arya was going to throw Joffrey’s treatment of their father in her face, but for some reason her sister has avoided the issue. After the initial shock they decided they should  try to remain positive and in high spirits. What use would they be for their family if they turned to despair? Besides that, they didn’t wont to arouse any suspicions among the crew.

Time flew by. Hard work kept them busy, and they barely even noticed when, after about a fortnight, the Dark Flame entered the harbor of the city of Pentos.


	4. Out from the belly of a whale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which secrets are revealed, decisions are taken, and meals are described.

Their first day in Pentos was spent aboard the Dark Flame; it was already quite late when they arrived, and Groleo convinced them to wait on the ship while he was meeting his employer, right honorable magister Illyrio Mopatis.

After the captain and most of the crew left the ship, the atmosphere become much more relaxed. Sansa and Arya were allowed to eat their supper - hardtack with cheese and salted pork, washed down with water mixed with lemon juice - on deck.

They used this as an opportunity to look at the ships entering and leaving the harbor, the people moving around the area and the magnificent buildings visible from the distance. Sansa was struck by how diverse the population was, both in their looks and their fashion. People with black skin and brightly colored feather capes, savage-looking warriors clad in leathers, dour looking fellows with clothes too heavy for the local weather (fellow Northerners, she decided, though from a different North), and right next to them, men and women in sheer clothing that was revealing more than it was hiding. Whole world must be here, she thought with awe.

While looking at the square brick towers encircling the port, she grasped the difference between King’s Landing and Pentos. The former was just a big city, while the later was a _great_ city. Compared with Petnos, dominated by great mansions and palaces, the capital of the Seven Kingdoms seemed cramped, dirty, and provincial.

In Pentos, even these who were obviously of the servant class wore better clothes and looked healthier than the smallfolk of Westeros, whether peasants or the urban poor of Fleat Bottom. She was confused though why some of them had metal collars around their necks, and decided to ask one of the sailors.

“Is this some sort of jewelry?,” she said in Valyrian.

“A very peculiar one,” he laughed. “These are servants indebted to their masters. We mustn’t call them slaves, not anymore, but in true that’s who they are. Collars mark them, making escape difficult.”

After hearing that explanation, Arya chuckled at her naivety, and Sansa blushed.

“Well some of them looked like they were made from expensive materials,” she said defensively.  “By the way Arya you seem to understand Valyrian very well for someone who never remembered declensions and could never find her translations when Septa Mordane asked for them,” she added.

Her sister appeared unvexed by that biting remark.

“I already picked a lot from the crew. I’m more of a practical learner,” she declared proudly.

“You sure are, Arya Horseface,” Sansa said teasingly.

“What did the septa’s pet call me!” Arya yelled with a rather theatrical outrage, and then hit the smiling Sansa with a piece of hard biscuit.

“You didn’t!” Sansa cried and retaliated by attacking her sister with some half-eaten cheese.

She missed narrowly.

“Great shot, bookworm, I bet you can’t even catch me!” Arya declared.

Sansa tried to catch her.

Sky long turned black before the sailors on the watch got tired of them running around and throwing food at each other and had them forcibly removed to their sleeping quarters.

 

* * *

 

“You’re in luck,” captain Groleo stated after returning the next morning.

 “Magister Illyrio has taken an unusual interest in you. He wants to interview you personally and invites you to a feast at his manse. Be grateful, that’s a huge honor denied even to many among the rich and powerful.”

“Why would this great magister of you want to see two shipwrecked girls?” Arya inquired.

“I have no idea why anyone would ever want to see _you_ , but through my long career I prospered by not questioning my betters. You would be wise to do the same,” Groleo responded.

“We would gladly accept the invitation,” Sansa declared. “Though I’m afraid we might cause offense due to lack of suitable attire,” she added suddenly self conscious about the ragged boy clothes she and Arya were wearing. They were good enough while they were aboard, but to visit anyone in the city in them, let alone a potentate like magister Mopatis?

“That makes no matter. We Pentosi are practical people, I assure you the great magister won’t faint at your sight just because you aren’t clothed in silks. However, he would get irritated if he had to wait too long, so I suggest you make haste,” the captain said.

With no time to waste, Sansa and Arya left the ship that was their home for more than a fortnight without as much as saying goodbye. A litter sent by Illyrio were already waiting for them. They entered the vehicle and soon four strong men wearing iron collars around their necks lifted them from the ground as if they weighed nothing. Their safety was assured, they were told, by similarly collared guardsmen who surrounded them on each side and made sure the way was clean.

In King’s Landing, litters were sometimes used by the ladies of the court, particularly by queen Cersei, but they were manned by free servants who were fairly compensated for their work, Sansa was sure. People carrying them today were, from what she learned yesterday, slaves. She felt bad that she didn’t have any money to give to them. Pentos, while shinier on the outside than King’s Landing, had its darker side too.

“What do you think this all means?” Arya asked suddenly.

“What?” Sansa responded absentmindedly, still buried deep in her own thoughts.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit suspicious? That this Illyrio wants to talk with us personally? Is even sending a litter to pick us up? We aren’t supposed to be anyone important.”

The sisters decided to keep up their disguise for the time being, and only reveal their true identity if absolutely necessary.

“We’re penniless and in a foreign city. I say if some dignitary wants to pamper us, we should let him to do just that,” Sansa said carefully.

“Well I’m nor parting with Needle yet,” Arya stated.

It was a bit absurd how much her sister believed in the protection offered by that short sword, but Sansa had to admit that it has already saved their lives at least one time.

Their conversation was cut short by the litter stopping. Sansa reached for the curtain covering the exit, but one of the slaves was faster.

“Nothing to worry miss,” he said after bowing respectfully. “We’re just passing through the market, it’s busy this time of the year. The unsullied will clear the way in a moment.”

Indeed, soon after that they started moving again, and reached Illyrio’s famous manse maybe half an hour later.

 

* * *

 

With walls about four and ten feet high and numerous armed guards around, magister’s residence was both a palace and a fortress. They were lead through the main gate and into the largest building, and then through a seemingly unending maze of corridors. Marble felt cold on her bare feet, and the servants were giving them looks of either pity or condemnation, making Sansa turn red out of fear that they brought dirt into this elegant place.

Finally, they entered the dining area. The man who must have been the magister was already eating. He was tall and freakishly obese, with fat cheeks and a forked yellow beard, clad in a gigantic white robe that left his upper chest area unappealingly visible. At the moment he busy consuming what must have been a suckling pig, stuffed with chestnuts and truffles. Grease was dripping down his chin while he was picking up large pieces of meat with his fingers and swallowing them whole.

Seeing them, he stopped eating and asked a nearby servants for water and a towel.

“Please, take a seat,” he motioned to them while cleaning himself up.

They took the seats across from him, looking with amazements at all the different food on the table. Some of the stranger dishes they had trouble identifying: some kind of snake (perhaps) was served with peppers and what looked to be a fiery sauce, and countless plates were filled with various sea creatures, from exotic fish to some crablike monstrosities that would have been terrifying alive. There was also more familial dishes, well-known in the Seven Kingdoms: honeyed chicken, a duck stuffed with onions, apples and carrots, pies of various kinds, both sweet and savory. Oh, and yes, there were lemoncakes too. They barely even registered the side dishes of various kinds: crisp slices of bacon, bread both fresh from the oven and fried with egg, collections of cheeses and nuts and fruits. 

“I see that you’re looking at food. It’s not much, I’m afraid, just what could be thrown together at a very fast notice,” Illyrio said nonchalantly. “You must be starving about eating nothing but hardtack and salted meat for days, it must have been awful. Please, be me guess, we’ll talk after you satisfy your hunger,” he added with a warm smile.

That was all they needed. Sansa tried to eat like a lady, but couldn’t stop herself from devouring some extremely tasty lemon cakes. After that she restrained herself a bit, but was still eating much faster than Septa Mordane and the lady mother would prefer. On her side, Arya was staying true to her name buy positively wolfing down a dish after a dish. It was inconceivable how she could ever remain so small and thin with such an appetite.

Meanwhile Illyrio finished with his pig and was now washing it down with some wine. He motioned the servants to pour large goblets for them as well.

“It’s Arbor Gold. I didn’t know how used you’re to the taste, so I ordered it sweetened with honey. Purists would say that it’s destroying a perfectly fine vintage, but I always strive to make my guests as comfortable as possible,” he declared.

Arya, who had a misfortune of eating some treacherously spicy piece of meat a moment before, immediately drunk what seemed to be about half of a goblet. Sansa noticed that it was immediately refilled. She took a small sip. She wasn’t completely unfamiliar with wine, but she almost never drank more than a small cup (father’s orders) and usually it was mixed half and half with water. She hardly even felt tipsy, except for that one time with Joffrey…

She suddenly started to feel suspicious about their generous host. He wants us drunk and happy, so we’ll tell him whatever he wants, she concluded.

“Kind magister, thank you for this marvelous feast, but surely there are things you want to discuss?” she struck preemptively.

His small eyes focused on her before he grinned, showing yellowed teeth that matched the color of his beard.

“Indeed, let’s talk. From what I’ve heard from my captain, you girls are looking to get back home to Westeros?” he said.

“Yes, ser, we do,” Sansa nodded. ”We want to get back to White Harbor.”

“Weren’t you traveling to Gulltown before?” the magister inquired.

“Yes, we were, but now we just want to get home,” she responded.

“Is your business in Gulltown done? Won’t your relatives be looking for you there? Perhaps, just thinking aloud here, it would be wise to send you back to King’s Landing, that’s where you started your journey after all,” Illyrio said slowly.

“No!” Arya shouted perhaps a bit too forcefully.

Illyrio smiled at her, taking a sip from his gold-encrusted goblet and then reached for a bowl of raisins, nuts and dried fruits.

“Let’s leave the issue of destination for now. I wanted to ask about your family. Your father’s a merchant. Must be an exceptional man too, not many of his class are spending time and money to teach their daughters High Valyrian. Unfortunately I believe I forgot his name,” he said after gulping down a fistful of fruits.

“It’s Pete, Pete the Fishmonger from White Harbor,” Sansa said with faked conviction.

“Really?” he asked. “I’m now recalling that the captain called him Karl before.”

Arya must have used a different name while talking with some of the sailors, Sansa thought.

“Makes no matter. Whatever his exact name was, surely he must have traded with me, or my colleagues and associates from the other free cities. I assure you we’re keeping meticulous records, we’ll find all that there’s about him...,” Illyrio paused suddenly. “…If he really exists,” he added dramatically.

They looked at him in silence. He sighted, took another sip and started talking.

“About two months ago, king Robert died. In the power struggle that ensued, his lord hand was arrested on the charge of treason. With him at the court were two daughters, aged twelve and nine…”

“Almost ten,” she heard Arya murmuring.

“… the older one particularly noticeable due to beautiful auburn hair, and already known among the courtiers and servants as a lover of lemon cakes,” Illyrio continued while giving Sansa a look. “Now, most of the realm, even their family, believes that the girls are still locked somewhere in the Red Keep. However, certain knowledgeable individuals who has been informing me of the recent happenings know that’s not true. In fact, the news of their mysterious disappearance from the face of the earth was in the most recent dispatch I’ve received. That dispatch was still fresh on my mind when captain Groleo reported to me last night and told me about the shipwrecked girls he took aboard the Dark Flame, a lanky brown-haired tomboy and a remarkable redhead. If I still had any doubts, our conversation today has completely dispelled them. Lady Sansa, Lady Arya, we had our fun, but it’s time to end this mummer’s farce,” he said softly.

There was no point in trying to deny anything; they’ve been found out.

“Magister, will you allow us to return home? Our family would be most grateful,” Sansa asked hopefully.

“I’m sure you’ll get home, eventually,” the big man responded. “However, right now the situation is just too unstable. You don’t want to end up in the middle of a war, do you? It’ll safer if you remain here with me for a while, maybe a couple months. I guarantee you that you won’t miss for any comfort.”

 “Are we prisoners?,” Arya asked harshly.

Illyrio looked offended.

“Of course not, I’m not going to put you in chains or throw you in a dungeon,” he responded.

“Can we leave then?” her sister wasn’t satisfied with the answer.

“Where would you go? On the streets? Do you know happens to homeless children in this city? I’m terribly sorry, but my heart would break in half if something bad happened to you two darlings,” Illyrio responded in an almost weeping tone.

Meanwhile, one of the slaves walked close to him and whispered something into his ear.

“I’ve been told your guestrooms are ready,” he declared.

“I’ve got my own business to attend now, but rest assured we’ll have a longer talk tomorrow evening. I’m leaving you under the charge of my trusted majordomo,” he told them and then with some difficulty stood up and left the room.

Servants then led Sansa and Arya to their quarters; armed guards followed at respectful distance.

 

* * *

 

Sansa spend the rest of the day in a spacious room allotted to her. Her new quarters were bigger than her old bedroom in King’s Landing and more luxurious too. Right across  from the bed there was a human-sized mirror. She looked at herself critically: she lost weight, had a tan befitting a peasant lass, and her hair was a mess.

A group of slaves brought a metal bathtub into her room and filled it with steaming hot water. After they left, young girl servant helped her bath, rubbing scented oils into her skin and helping her wash her head. She was grateful; Gods know she needed that.

While drying her hair, she asked for a book to read. The servant returned with a history of Targaryen dynasty (a bit of a dry read, but good enough to pass time) and some clothes.

“I beg your pardon m’lady, it’s only servant attire, but we don’t have anything better that could fit m’lady at the moment,” she said apologetically.

Sansa nodded absentmindedly and returned to her book.

Few hours later on the girl has come again, bringing refreshments and offering to comb her hair; she graciously accepted.

After that was done Sansa attempted to walk out of her room only to learn about limits put on her freedom: she could go everywhere around the manse, but a guard would follow closely.  I’m in a cage, she realized. It’s a golden cage, but cage nonetheless.

Suddenly, she lost all desire to visit the garden and retired to the bed with a book in hand. It was a featherbed, ridiculously soft and comfortable. Not even reading about the ridiculous carnage brought the Dance of Dragons could stop her from soon falling asleep.

 

* * *

 

Arya has come to wake her up around the midnight.

“Arya? What are you doing here? What about the guards?,” Sansa asked her sister while wiping the sleep from her eyes.

“The guards are asleep. I've heard their snoring. We’ve got to talk, without anyone eavesdropping,” Arya responded.

“I don’t think many people here know Common,” Sansa speculated.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if these set to watch over us do,” her sister said. “Listen, I don’t trust this Illyrio. We should try to get away.”

Sansa was skeptical.

“Are you serious? He’s holding us hostage, that’s true. Maybe he wants to extort money from our parents. Still, he’s right about us being safer in his palace than on the streets. He’s our best bet at getting home,” Sansa decided that she should be the voice of reason in their partnership.

“You don’t know everything. I think I recognize his – Illyrio’s -  voice. I’ve already heard him talk once, back when we were in King’s Landing. He was talking with someone else about wolves and lions and hands, it seemed like nonsense at the time. Now I know what it was about. They were plotting treason, against father. Now he and his friend want to use us in some dark plot. We can’t allow that, we can’t stay here,” Arya said.

It’s madness, Sansa told herself, but the unusual earnestness in Arya’s voice made her sound convincing.

“Do you really think we can survive on our own?” she asked her.

“Yes,” Arya responded. “As long as we keep each other’s back. What do you say?”

Sansa thought long before giving her answer. She was asked to make a serious decision.

Finally, she smiled.

“Let’s go. I presume you have a  plan for getting us out of this place?”

 

* * *

 

The next morning they broke their fast in the dining area. Arya has taken to the food with her usual appetite but Sansa didn’t as much as look at the refreshing soup, slices of bacon or the small fried fish that were offered to her.

“Bring me the majordomo,” she finally ordered one of the attending servants.

The lean, older man come almost immediately.

“Is there something wrong, m’lady?,” he asked.

“Don’t you see it? Just look at me!” Sansa responded in a haughty voice. “You’ve got me wearing a _servant_ garb. Don’t you know I’m the daughter of a great lord? Are you humiliating me on purpose?”

“Certainly not m’lady, let me send a servant, there might still be some clothes left by a young lady who lived here previously…”

“Some foreign courtesan clothes!” Sansa shouted in anguish, and then turned her face away and started sobbing. “Magister…Illyrio…promised…we wouldn’t lack…for anything,” she was uttering between weeps.

The majordomo looked bewildered. Arya joined on the conversation:

“Ser, my sister’s very concerned about what she wears. For two months we walked around in rags, isn’t it natural that she wants to look like a lady again? Surely you can do something about this? You don’t want magister Illyrio to learn that she spend her whole day crying and not even touching her food? Isn’t there a market nearby where we could buy some half-decent clothes, or at least the material for them?”

“I could send some servant…,” the majordomo looked at them impatiently.

Sansa give a high pitched cry.

“And what, let them buy something _hideous_?”

The majordomo gasped.

“M’lady, if you promise to stop crying and finish your breakfast, I can arrange for you to visit the market in person so you could make sure that everything is to your taste,” he finally said in a defeated tone.

“I’ll go too,” Arya added quickly, and nobody protested.

 

* * *

 

They were taken to the market they’ve visited yesterday. Four armed guards followed their every move and were never further than a feet away. Sansa and Arya spend hours walking around the stalls, comparing the fabrics, tasting treats and haggling with vendors, trying to tire their escort out, make them lose their focus, give them that single opening they were waiting for. That strategy wasn’t working.

“We need a distraction,” Arya whispered to her. “Give me the money.”

Sansa received a pouch filled with silver coins from the majordomo, to pay for the clothing and fabric they were supposed to buy. She now turned it over to her sister.

“Be ready when it happens,” her sister added in a conspiratorial voice and walked away.

Sansa feigned interest in the merchandise on the stall before her. After a moment, she heard her sister shouting at the top of her lungs.

“Free money! Free money!”

She turned to see coins falling to the ground, and people jumping, ramming into each other to pick them up. Her two bodyguards also rushed forward, she didn’t know whether out of concern for her sister or to get some coins for themselves.

Makes no matter, she thought and started to run.

She didn’t dare to look behind her, just moved forward. Soon, she left the market by entering one of the small streets around. After realizing no one was running after her, she finally slowed done.

It was only then she realized the flaw in the execution of their plan. How was she going to find Arya? The guards must be patrolling the area around the market, what if her sister got caught?

Suddenly, she heard something hitting the ground behind her. She turned around to find Arya trying to stand up. She was covered in dirt and had blood on her bare knees.

She jumped forward and hugged her.

“Are you all right?” she asked fearfully.

“I’m fine, just stop squeezing me,” she responded. “That building is taller than it looks,” she assessed the house next to them.

“Wait, you were on that roof?” Sansa couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Yeah, I had to keep an eye on you so I jumped around a bit,” Arya responded. “It was fun.”

 

* * *

 

They spend the next few hours walking around the city, trying to throw the potential pursuers off their scent. After the initial excitement has worn off, Sansa was beset by doubts. They couldn’t just stay on the streets, either Illyrio would use his wealth and influence to find them or they would end up dead in a gutter.

“We should go to the harbor,” Arya proclaimed. “Find a ship that’s going to Westeros, hopefully to the North.”

“And how we’ll pay them?” Sansa asked.

Arya had a good sense to keep a single silver coin, but Sansa was afraid that wouldn’t get them far.

“And what if it’s Illyrio’s ship? You know he’ll be trying to find us,” she continued to scold her sister.

“Well, let’s hear your ideas then,” Arya said with some irritation.

Sansa’s tummy rumbled, and she cursed herself for not eating much during breakfast.

“My idea is that we should get something to eat. Let’s look for a tavern,” she decided. Thinking on an empty stomach wouldn’t get them far.

After rejecting a few establishments that looked like they served a particularly shady clientele, they finally settled on an inn that seemed halfway respectable.

Inside, they parted with their solitary silver coin and received a whole bag of change (though Sansa was quite sure they still got cheated), a giant bowl of a hot stew, black bread and a bottle of cider to wash it down.

After satisfying their hunger, they went back to discussing their options.

“We could always get a job. On a ship, you know, so they let us travel with them. Or in the city, so we could save money to pay upfront,” Arya said.

Sansa thought that naïve. If the servants in this city could save money, they wouldn’t end up as slaves in all but name. Arya wasn’t giving up easily though.

“There was a board outside the inn, with some sort of notices or advertisements. Maybe there’re job offers, too,” she said optimistically and left for the exit.

Sansa was drinking her cider slowly and thinking up supporting things she was going to say once her sister returned empty-handed. However, when Arya returned it was with a piece of paper.

“What’s that?” Sansa asked.

“Read,” Arya said with a huge stupid grin on her face.

Sansa turned to the paper. It was, in fact, an advertisement for a job:

 

_World-famous troupe of mummers, originally from Braavos_

_On a tour of the Free Cities_

_URGENTLY looking for an YOUNG actress_

_REQUIRED Great singing voice_

_HIGHLY RECOMMENDED Pleasant look_

_GOOD pay - contract for the LAST performance in Pentos_

_(future collaboration possible if abilities proved satisfactory)_

_Inquire with Izembaro, Cloak and Dagger Inn_

 

“Dear sister,” Arya said slyly. “It’s time to get you an audition.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note that it might be a while before I post the next chapter because I need to focus on some other stuff.
> 
> At the same time I would like to thank anyone reading, commenting, giving kudos etc., it's really appreciated!


	5. The Audition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which old songs are sang, and new characters are introduced.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Standing like that you make a good impression of a tree, but we’re not looking for theater decoration at the moment,” the pot-bellied man, the one everyone called the King of the Mummers, yelled at her in a booming, theatrical voice.

Standing on the stage, she was painfully aware that half a dozen pairs of eyes were on here, the whole acting troupe: the dwarf, the young girl, the young man, the big man,  the scary man… The dwarf (of similar size, though more comely than the queen’s brother) was already snickering, the plain-looking girl that remained her of Jeyne Poole was giving her looks of pity, the red-headed youth was rolling his eyes…

In that moment, Sansa wanted nothing more but to turn her back on them and escape.

She knew she couldn’t do that to herself, and to Arya. The sisters had spend a better part of the day finding The Cloak and Dagger Inn (a bigger and fancier place that they imagined, in Westeros it would be good enough to be patronized by nobles), and then had to part with most of their remaining money just to get in. It turned out that the mummers are doing rehearsals in the underground cellar where a makeshift stage was set up. Then it Arya’s insistence that won Sansa her audition. Her sister was waiting for her upstairs. She would curse her if she ruined everything by turning craven…

“We’re waiting!” someone shouted at her.

If I look back I’m lost, she remained herself and started singing the first song that come into her mind:

 

_Gentle Mother, font of mercy,_

_Save our sons from war, we pray._

_Stay the swords and stay the arrows,_

_Let them know a better day._

_Gentle Mother, strength of women,_

_Help our daughters through this fray._

_Soothe the wrath and tame the fury…_

 

Her performance was met with chuckles.

“Stop!” Izembaro shouted, and she started running toward the stage exit, convinced that she has failed.

“I told you to stop, not to run away wench!” the King of the Mummers called after her.

“It seems you can sing. The things is we don’t do that sort of dull repertoire. Gave us something with more live in it, something to cry or laugh at!”

“What was it anyway?” the dwarf mummer asked, visibly bewildered.

“It’s a religious hymn, from Westeros,” a man with a scarred face and cold eyes of a murderer answered, which was remarkable as he looked neither religious nor Westerosi.

“A religious hymn? That explains why I suddenly started to feel ill. I’m allergic to such rubbish,” the dwarf proudly declared. “Do you know the story about the priest of R’hllor and a boy…”

“Enough of that. Do you have anything girl?,” Izembaro cut him brashly, putting the focus back on Sansa, to her silent internal terror.

“Yes, I do,” she responded trying to sound confident, although in true she felt extremely uncomfortable. Arya would fit better with these wild characters, to bad she couldn’t carry a tune to save her life. At last, Sansa started to sing again, this time choosing a song more befitting the present company, a cheerful tune that Theon Greyjoy liked to hum back in Winterfell:

 

_From there, to here. From here! To there!_

_All black and brown and covered in hair!_

_He smelled that girl on the summer air!_

_The bear! The bear!_

_The maiden fair!_

She started slowly and quietly, still feeling self conscious. Then, something changed -  she focused on the song, and the world around her disappeared.  Her voice grew stronger and more confident, and she sang and danced with the energy the song vital for this ribaldrous tale:

 

_Oh, I'm a maid, and I'm pure and fair!_

_I'll never dance with a hairy bear!_

_I called a knight, but you're a bear!_

_All black and brown and covered in hair!_

_He lifted her high in the air!_

_He sniffed and roared and he smelled her there!_

_She kicked and wailed, the maid so fair!_

_He licked the honey all up in her hair!_

_From there to here. From here! To there!_

_All black and brown and covered in hair!_

_He smelled that girl on the summer air!_

_The bear! The bear!_

_The maiden fair!_

“Enough!” the Mummer’s King cried and yet again she though all was lost, but when she looked at him, she saw that he actually seemed content. 

“Decent, not good enough for Braavos of course, and not for a permanent employment, but compared to the dross we had the misfortune to listen before…”

“She can sing, I can give you that, but what about acting?” one of the troupe’s members interrupted Izembaro. It was the tall lanky youth with pale complexion and hair more strikingly red than Sansa’s. King of the Mummers give him an angry look, but the young man paid him little attention.

“Are we just going to accept some amateur street rat into our respectable company? Do we know if she can pull off playing a noble lady? I can buy her as a tavern wench maybe, but as a lady? Can she learn her lines in just a few days? Does she actually know how to read?”

That was it for Sansa. At first she just felt intimidated by these people, but now it was anger that was overtaking her. She was Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell, not someone to be laughed at and lectured by some _boy_ who most like would have been bested in combat by Bran. Probably even by crippled Bran.

“I’ll have you know that I can read in three different languages,” she blurted out. “I admit I have no idea what kind of show are you doing, but the lines mustn’t be difficult to learn, given that _you_ managed to do so. And if this is a _respectable_ company, then I shudder to think how a disreputable one looks. Worse collections of ruffians and brutes I’ve never seen!” she concluded and stomped her feet for emphasis.

“…no offence intended, I’m sure you’re terrific actors,” she added after a moment, coming back to her senses and suddenly ashamed by her own outburst. From their reactions though, the mummers seemed more amused than offended. A couple of them laughed, and one or two even clapped. 

“She told you, Mat!” the dwarf said.

“Well, I guess I can see her as a haughty lady now,” the lanky redhead conceded.

“Girl, that was a nice little stunt, though that kind of cheek would be more useful if at the moment we were doing farce rather than drama. I’ll let the others will fill you in on the details,” King of the Mummers finally announced and got up from his seat. “It’s all for today. Brusco, make sure Bonobo is in the bed before midnight. I mean his own bed. I don’t want him half-asleep on the stage like today,” he added on his way out.

Meanwhile, the arrogant redhead walked to Sansa and shoved a heavy roll of paper into her hands.

“The play. I expect you to know your lines by the morrow,” he said.

 It was only then that Sansa realized she actually got the job. She started to read the play she received (the title was: _Hermesinde, or the True Love. A tragedy in three acts_ ), but stopped when another person approached her. It was the only female mummer, a  girl of maybe three and ten or close enough to make no matter.

“Cat, is that right? I’m Daena. Please, follow me. We’ll get you settled in,” she motioned to her. Sansa obliged and they moved towards the cellar’s exit.   

“I’m to be your guide. The other deem themselves important artists so they always assign busy work to me. Then if anything goes wrong it’s my fault,” her most recent acquaintance explained on the way.

Sansa wasn’t all too pleased that talking to her was apparently considered busy work, but at the moment her main concern was about  someone else.

“Do you think people will mind if my sister stays with me while I’m with the troupe?” she asked.

“Makes no matter for Izembaro as long as you don’t ask for more money. As for the others, most like they’ll welcome that. We do most things ourselves – costumes, decorations, I’m sure we’ll find employment for her. How is her sewing?” the girl responded.

“She’s decent with the Needle,” Sansa answered.

 

* * * *

 

They met with Arya (or rather “Beth”, as they agreed on using the fake names they picked earlier) on the inn’s main floor and then walked to Daena’s room upstairs. While nothing like the quarters in Illyrio’s manse, it was clean and spacious, although its current occupants did their best to fill it with clothes, wigs and pieces of paper. They all sat on the room’s single bed.

“You can sleep here, I don’t mind,” she said. “And let’s face it, it’s not like Izembaro is going to pay for any additional lodging,” she added with a quiet laugh.

“He’s not a very generous, is he?,” Sansa deducted.

“He would rather part with his dick than his pouch, and he likes his dick very much,” Daena responded, making Sansa blush.

“Do you sleep here alone?” Arya asked while looking at a truly gorgeous velvet dress hanging next to the window. “Some of these clothes look way too big for you”.

“Oh, all the nice stuff belongs to Lady Stork, but she’s not around anymore. In fact, that’s who Cat is replacing.”

Funny, Sansa thought. Lady Stork sounds almost like Lady Stark.

“What happened to her?,” she asked.

“I bet she got fired for having a stupid name like Lady Stork,” Arya proclaimed.

“It’s a stage name, not a real one. Most actors pick one,” Daena responded looking at her sister disapprovingly. “You should pick one too, Cat. As for the Lady Stork, she wasn’t fired, she just disappeared. It’s been more than a week now so we placed adverts for her role all around the city. To be honest, we hoped that she would return after reading them.”

“Disappeared? That sounds ominous,” Sansa said.

“It happened before. Lady Stork likes her drinks a bit too much. Sometimes she ends up losing control over herself, vanishes for days. Izembaro puts up with it because when’s sober and playing, she does well and brings the audience. Nevertheless, he was always saying  that wine would be her ruin, and mayhaps he was right for once,” Daena explained, shaking her head. “Well, the good thing about this horrid affair is that it lead you to us,” she added and smiled at them.  “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t wish Lady Stork bad, but sharing a room with her is no fun. She’s prickly when sober and obnoxious when drunk. She’s also terribly old, like 30 I think, even though she still insists on playing beautiful young maidens. It’s nice to have girls closer to my age around, it’s almost like having siblings,” she concluded.

“You don’t have any?” Arya wanted to know.

“No… I don’t think so. I don’t remember my family very well. My parents died when I was a baby, and I’ve been on my own since then,” Daena responded.

Sansa pitied her, truly, but also pitied herself, as the girl’s words reminded her of her own parents and siblings. Tears appeared in her eyes. Arya and Daena looked at her with concern.

“I’m so sorry, forgive my sister for her insensitive question and me for making a scene,” she apologized while wiping the tears away with her sleeve. “We  haven’t seen our family in months and when you said…we’re trying to get back home, that’s why we even approached your troupe,” Sansa said.

 “Yeah, we need money to pay for a ship fee back to Westeros,” Arya chimed in.

“Oh, I don’t mind Beth’s asking. It’s not as if she could have known,” Daena shrugged. “I’m going to warn you though, the money Izembaro will give you for a single performance won’t pay for a long sea trip for two”.

“Well, that sucks,” Arya commented.

Was all her efforts for nothing? Sansa felt terribly disappointed.

“Is there anything we can do?,” she asked.

Daena sat in silence for a moment, stroking her chin. Then she smiled at them mischievously.

“You could get more than enough money if you went with us to Volantis. After leaving Pentos, we’re going to a Volantese New Year Festival. They pay well for regular performances, but during the festival they also give out special prizes. It’s like a year’s income for most acting companies.”

“Do you think you could win?” Arya asked.

“We actually did win in the past,” Daena answered proudly.

“Then shouldn’t you all be rich already?” her sister seemed skeptical.

“True artists aren’t very good with their money. It is known,” Daena responded.

 Volantis. That was even future east than Pentos, Sansa realized with dread. Yet, maybe it was actually their best option at the moment. At least they would get out of Illyrio’s reach.

“Do you think Izembaro would allow us to go to Volantis with you?” she asked.

“Truthfully, I’m not sure. Right now you’ve been only hired for a single appearance,” Daena said. “Maybe if your performance was really impressive.”

“Well then,” Sansa said reaching for the play. “Let’s get to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some trouble writing this chapter, in the end I decided to divide it into two parts and post the first while working on the second. Hopefully it's not too disappointing.
> 
> The mummers introduced in this chapter are (mostly) canon characters from the TWOW "Mercy" sample chapter. However, due to limited amount of information that could deducted from that sample, their characterization, backstories and even ages are my invention - I expect them to become pretty OOC once the Season 6 and/or TWOW are out.


End file.
